Diplomatic Immunity
by yllimilly
Summary: YGOFFC S8R6. Diplomatic immunity? Seto lost it when Rishid lost it. Part 2 of Greener Pastures, companion fic to Sibling Chivalry. RishidxIsisxSeto and other pairings.


**Diplomatic Immunity**

**Love triangles/polygons/pairings**: RishidxIsisxMahaad, SetoxIsis, (Thief King)BakuraxMalik.

**AN**: 'Greener Pastures' is an AU that I use in other fics, in which the YuGiOh characters (mostly AE with a few exceptions) are immigrant teenagers struggling to adapt to their new country and to live up to their families' expectations. **Sibling Chivalry** (alternative title: _Containment_) tells the lives of Atem and Mahaad; this fic focuses on the three Ishtar siblings. Both fics follow the same timeline (they are not prequel or sequel to one another), told from the point of view of different characters, but I strongly advise that you read Sibling Chivalry first, just so that you can get all the little references.

**Special thanks** to: Ryou VeRua and Lady Blackwell for their time and advice.

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* * *

**the first winter (that would be now)**

* * *

.

Bakura hugged himself to fend off the cold night air. There was one thing about the new country that he never got used to:

Its goddamned winters.

It would be so much simpler to just button up, but which seventeen year old in his right mind would do that? The real imminent threat to Bakura's welfare wasn't the temperature, but the watery snowflakes, melting away the good gel that gave his rebellious mane some decent kind of shape.

"Come on, Malik, it can't be that difficult."

The doe eyed blond, stalled in front of the vending machine, shivered. "I can't feel my fingers."

Bakura sighed and uncrossed his arms, stepping forward to snatch the paper note away from him then hastily inserting it into the appropriate slot. He selected honey flavoured cigarettes - the only appropriate choice when in company of the lithe boy in the high waisted purple jacket - and got a firm hold of his freezing, trembling hand.

"You're so clueless. I bet you have Rishid drive here every week just to buy these for you," he chuckled.

Rishid was, just like Mahaad and himself, a bakhrit: orphans who had been taken in by wealthier families to serve their first born son or sometimes become spiritual leaders. But this particular lifestyle hadn't survived too well in the new country, save for Mahaad who had pledged allegiance to Atem. Bakura, for one, had never taken it to heart. He was much more interested in Rishid's spiritual little brother than his own.

"Lemme see your fingers," Bakura demanded, bringing them to the eager warmth of his mouth without waiting for an answer.

Malik somehow managed to slip them away from the taller boy's hold before they were engulfed. "I'm fine." And then, after a short but thoughtful pause, came a mechanical: "thanks."

He bent over to retrieve his purchase from the machine, unwittingly giving Bakura a fine, fine glimpse of his equally fine derriere. He unwillingly closed the distance between himself and his friend, absorbed as he was in unwrapped his new purchase... not without difficulty. The white haired boy didn't offer to help, captivated by how nice the blond's eyelashes looked when his eyes were half closed.

Malik's thin lips, purple from the cold, now held a slender cigarette; he offered Bakura another. "Can you light it for me?"

"If I get to light mine, too, then yes," he croaked, parting his lips slightly so that the blond would have to fill him in. The notorious kleptomaniac produced a dubiously acquired lighter from one of the numerous pockets of his red overcoat. It was a bizarre object that felt good and massive in the hand, its gold coating glowing deliciously under the flame.

Malik leaned in and cupped his hands around Bakura's to fend off the wind. They were dangerously close, and it was the somewhat dead look in those purple eyes that made Bakura reconsider his lustful plans; just smoking in the company of the cutie would do for now. Molesting, however...

Bakura's free hand didn't make it in time to that slender hip. Malik took a step back to release a stormy cloud into the snow speckled air, oblivious to the craving in Bakura's eyes who were set on those puckered purple lips.

They were supposed to be meeting their friends right now, who were gathering behind the temple - Bakura recognized Rishid's relic of a car parked right in front of the vending machine, right in front of Karim's. But the recreational thief wasn't too eager to share his prey with them. He would gladly smoke the entire pack before joining the rest of the gang, or even better, convince the delicious blond to change his mind about the gathering altogether.

"I think we should get going," dropped Malik. "We're late already..."

"Late, but worth the wait," Bakura murmured to himself. From the same pocket that held his lighter came a flask, matching in colour and shine. Bakura twisted it open with his index and thumb between two hungry intakes of the sweet scented smoke. "Want some?"

"You know I can't," Malik whined in his defense, one frozen hand clutching to his naked wrist. He looked at the dimly lit 'Dry Cleaner' sign on the brick building across the street. His shoulders sagged as he exhaled a second whiff.

"It wouldn't mess with your pills if you didn't take them," Bakura said before taking a whisk of the warming liquor.

Malik tore his gaze away from Bakura in an all-too-neutral manner and tossed his unfinished cig on the snow laden sidewalk. "I'll just go ahead. See you there."

Where the faint embers of honey flavoured tobacco had died, an ever-widening rim of dark, wet asphalt could be seen.

Like a black hole.

Bakura scoffed and screwed the cap on, sucking all the intoxicating drafts he could until nothing was left but the filter. "You don't know what you're missing," he muttered again to himself as he jogged to catch up with the blond, very well knowing that he wouldn't understand the meaning of his double entendre anyway.

The rest of the gang could be heard from behind the brick building, louder and more animated than usual. Those dweebs had a lot to catch up on.

They used to hang out a lot at this spot in the past. However, when Mahaad became a full fledged priest, and when Isis got into pre-med, and when Karim started working in his father's shop, and when Rishid moved to another town entirely to study engineering, the meetings became less and less frequent, and at some point stopped altogether.

"Looks like the party's started already."

Malik didn't seem to be as bothered by it as much as Bakura was. The reason he hated to be late, an occurrence that was just too common when he agreed to hang out with Bakura, was because he hated to disappoint his friends, not because he felt he was missing out on something. The clink so characteristic of broken glass broke his line of thought.

Bakura chuckled. Were things finally getting interesting around those listless people Malik liked to call his friends? It seemed impossible. They would sometimes get silly or high, but they would never get drunk enough to lose control in this neighbourhood that was too unevenly patrolled by the police, let alone trash the place where their own parents and uncles and aunts would come to worship the following day.

So it occurred to Malik that maybe that glass hadn't been dropped, but purposefully broken. Then he heard Rishid's voice louder than everyone else's - and his older brother never lost his temper. "Oh shit!"

The two boys sped up, walked past the last street light and bypassed the building.

Bakura had hoped for some fresh, new, hostile faces among the crowd of kids, but he was let down after a quick assessment of their familiar silhouettes. The only newcomer was Noah, whose presence immediately signaled Seto's. The Kaiba's weren't members of this church, they had weird beliefs and fait imposed dietary restrictions, but they also came from the old country and went to the same school, so they, along with their cousin Kisara, were reasonably close acquaintances to the gang.

The atmosphere was unusual; the boys were all riled up, encircling someone or something, shouting warnings and cheers all at once. "It's so much more fun when the girls aren't here," smirked Bakura. Maybe something was happening at last.

In the middle stood Rishid and Seto, staring each other down. Rishid was stout, his features rigid and tense while Seto, as arrogant as ever, seemed to be taunting him.

Malik asked an extremely agitated Atem what was going on, and Bakura, only happy to be able to throw oil on the fire, yelled a sexist slur just to see who would react the most. He instantly regretted it, because it was at that precise moment that Seto chose to open his mouth, most likely delivering some kind of juicy verbal offensive and he wished he heard it because it triggered something in Rishid, who did the unthinkable:

He sent his fist crashing right between those beautiful blue eyes.

.

* * *

**two winters before that**

* * *

.

It was downright freezing and Isis was underdressed but she didn't care; she would _walk _her way home from the public library across the city even if it took her two hours to do so. The wind stung her face, especially at the salty streak staining her cheeks. She sniffled a lot and did her best not to lick her chapped lips to prevent them from cracking further.

It was late and the streets were empty. But she was too heartbroken to be afraid of the dark.

The temple was just a couple blocks away. She could see the glow of the vending machines across the street; but there were no lights emanating from the basement windows below the dry cleaner's. She dug her hands deeper in her coat pockets.

For a second she had been ready to give in and drop by the temple to ask Rishid for a ride. But there was evidently no one there now that the bakhrits' scripture study sessions were over. Her older brother was probably on his way home already. Mother and Father were at work, and she knew Malik would be kept under observation at the hospital for at least a couple more weeks, so there was no one home to pick up the phone even if she called. She tried to wriggle her toes in her tiny shoes as she walked.

She swallowed her pride and on a few recidivist tears when she walked past the empty temple. She had refused Mahaad's offer to walk her home and now she was going to have to endure the consequences. It was best if no one saw her like this, actually. Isis Ishtar, crying? For a boy?

The low rumble of a car, muted by her snow laden surroundings, made itself heard in the distance. Her heart jumped; she didn't feel so adamant about walking her way home alone now. Gods, how she wished it were Rishid or Mahaad!

Her heartbeat slowed down just as the car did. No, it skipped a beat now that some impossibly cerebral industrial music - just another dignified appellation for noise - was blasted out of the rolled down windows.

If she just ignored the stranger she would be fine...

"Isis?"

She couldn't help but turn her head when she heard her classmate her name. She saw the youngest of the Kaiba's, Noah, leaning into the back of the passenger seat, staring coolly in front of him like none of this was any of his business, while Seto was doing his best to maneuver the wheel and lean to get a better view of the lonely girl.

She knew the Kaiba's quite well; they were from a rival tribe back in the old country, but spoke the same language. The subtle set of differences that put 'people like him' and 'people like her' at odds didn't matter at all in the new country. Their general appearance and the number of gods they worshiped mattered little here: they were jumbled in the same group, together they were _the boat people_.

Seto wasn't speeding up even though she clearly wasn't intent on giving him time of the day. Resigned, she let him know that she had noticed him. "Hello," she said curtly, without halting her walk.

She had caught a glimpse of some kind of sports equipment on the back seat. it wasn't surprising that the oh so disciplined and ambitious Kaiba brothers made some time in their schedule for something like _squash_. They could afford to; as far as she knew, their parents didn't force any kind of religious instruction on them, unlike hers.

"Isis, what are you doing here?"

She wouldn't be able to ignore him for long. His music was so loud she feared it would wake the people who lived in the neighborhood.

"I'm walking," she stated with finality.

How long was he going to follow her around like that? Now that he would tire of it anytime soon; he happened to have a car, unlike her or her brothers (she was too young to drive, Malik was declared legally unfit to drive and Rishid couldn't afford a car).

"Do you need a ride?"

Couldn't he see that she _didn't_?

She kept her chin high, speeding up her walking pace, trying not to be self-conscious about her swollen eyes; he probably couldn't see, and he might become suspicious if she hid it.

"Come on in, Isis, I'm giving you a ride."

"I'm fine," she cut hastily, turning her head away so that he couldn't see her swollen eyes.

"You're not. I'm driving you home. You don't live too close from here, do you?"

"I said I was _fine_," she hissed.

For all answer he simply rolled up his window and picked up normal speed. She felt bad; sure the boy was arrogant and full of himself, but he had tried to be nice for once, and she had pushed him away.

But it was okay, she told herself; she needed to be alone, to recollect her thoughts.

A few blocks further the car slowed down by the side of the road. Seto got out of the still roaring car and jogged up to her.

Just what I need, she grumbled. She wasn't looking forward to be seen like this by her classmate.

"Isis," he panted when he was in front of her, "I'm serious."

There was indeed some sign of determination in those icy blue eyes. "You have to let me take you home. This is ridiculous," he pointed at her bare ankles and tiny ballerina shoes. "I can't let you freeze yourself like this. You'll catch a cold."

He barred her way when she tried to walk past him; she pouted. Why was it that she couldn't be totally angry at him?

"Isis, please." He would sound concerned if she didn't know him better.

She looked up as she swallowed yet another tear, bit on her lip, and finally faced him to give him a severe look.

"Okay, but on one condition."

He merely crossed his arms, expecting her to continue.

"You can't ask any questions."

Once they reached the car the doors were locked. Seto knocked on the window. It was obvious that, for some reason, Noah was pretending not to hear.

"Open the door, you little shit."

Noah merely turned up the volume, coolly ignoring his older brother.

Isis could only speculate on how their family dinners were. Maybe it was as crazy as the last time she ate at Atem and Mahaad's place. It was no wonder Atem had such an attitude with parents like his! She wondered how Mahaad put up with the three of them.

Oh, glory. Now she was thinking about Mahaad again. Her heart sunk. "Never mind, Seto, I'm okay," she stammered.

"I swear you are _walking_ tomorrow evening," the brunet said as the driver's door finally opened for him. Seto shouted something about 'the goddamn volume', unlocked the back door from inside and cleared some space on the back seat, completely ignoring her declining the offer for the umpteenth time.

"Hey! Don't just toss my racket like that!" Those were the first and only words Noah spoke during the whole ride. Apparently greetings weren't part of the Kaiba etiquette.

"So where do you live?" Seto adjusted his rear mirror so that he could look at her. All she saw were his overwhelming cold blue eyes reflected at her in the narrow frame.

.

In the car, Seto made an effort to nurse the fragile kindlings of a conversation Isis didn't actually mind having. The ease with which he had somehow managed to worm some information out of her caused her so much distress that she literally _fled_ once they reached the front of the apartment building.

It was so late now that she wouldn't have time to do her homework, but it was okay. She wouldn't be able to focus even if she tried to.

The floor of the apartment felt warm when she laid her bare feet on it; Seto might have earned enough money to buy himself a car, but not enough to buy a car with a heating system that worked. She sighed when she realized that his insidious questioning had the merit of taking her mind off the overly solemn confession she had imposed on Mahaad.

Oh, Mahaad.

Who are _you_ thinking about before you go to sleep? There must be someone. Or must have been.

From the drumming of water in the bathroom, Isis concluded that her older brother had arrived from the temple not long before she did. He wasn't one to indulge in excessively long showers and was therefore probably almost done.

Hopefully he'd just walk right past her, blissfully clueless to her heartache, when he would exit the bathroom to bury himself in his math books.

She turned the heating up and removed her coat, leaning against a wall so that she could massage her toes a little. She hated herself for wanting to wear a skirt today. It had been all in vain. It was more than obvious that Mahaad wouldn't pay attention to her feminine attributes. He wasn't that kind of guy. He was too... serious. The worse part is that it was the very reason she had fallen for him.

No, the worse part is that she had also known in advance what his answer was going to be.

But she still had to ask. For herself.

The shower was shut off, and Isis found herself waiting idle in front of the bathroom door, expecting it to open at any moment.

It didn't; instead she heard the tinkle of a toothbrush against a glass, and the subsequent brushing of teeth. But after the last bits of toothpaste had been rinsed out - it felt weird to listen to those bodily sounds, like she was spying - there was no sound at all. Not the ruffling of clothes, not the seat of a toilet being lifted of dropped, nothing.

Then there was an odd grunt.

She really had no excuse now, she wasn't merely waiting; she was intruding on her brother's personal space, she felt.

"Rishid?"

She heard him loose footing, then stammer.

"I-Isis?"

"What are you doing?" She had surprised him, that much was obvious, and she didn't know why she felt so bold tonight. "I need to go to the bathroom," she lied, as if to dismiss her eavesdropping of sorts.

"Oh, erm, yeah sure," he blurted out.

He opened the door not long after that, but just as Isis has decided that she would not hide the sight of her swollen eyes from Rishid, it was him who seemed to act sort of flustered, dashing for his bedroom without looking at her. Maybe she was imagining things; maybe it was simply normal to be flushed when you were a seventeen year old male caught half naked with only a towel around his waist, even if it was in front of the sister you used to bathe and sleep with as a child.

She was still engrossed in her musings when he stormed out of his bedroom again, in the same minimalistic attire, heading back to the bathroom in search of a forgotten object.

When he wanted to leave the steamy room again, he found that Isis had stepped into the door frame; she was blocking the way.

"Erm, Isis." He kept the retrieved pair of boxers behind his back. "Isis?"

She kept her gaze low. She felt stupid for imposing on him, but...

"Are you alright?"

Of course when it came to things that really mattered to him - that consisted of his family, math, and his closest friends - Rishid wasn't as clueless as he seemed. She had been hoping for it anyway, she admitted as she allowed a sob to well up and burst.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He tossed the underwear back on the tiled floor and sort of juggled in mid air, not knowing what to do with his hands - should he reach for her or not? Should he hug her or not? Should chin her up and look her in the eye or not?

She put an end to his internal debate when she leaned forward and pressed close against his chest. He hesitated, and when she wheezed another sob he wrapped his arms around her, albeit too lightly, as if he was afraid to brush his bare skin against hers. She assumed it was because she was so cold, and allowed herself to be selfish and press against his chest even harder.

His body was damp and warm and comforting. He did not shush her or rock her, stroke her hair or whisper words of encouragement like her mother and father did during her previous moments of weakness. It felt like ages had passed since she had last cried like this, letting go of all the pent up pride and anger she had been directing at herself - why had she been stupid enough for telling Mahaad? For even letting herself fall for him in the first place?

Slowly, she encircled her arms around his waist, and did not notice how he winced as she did, nor the strangle in his voice when he called out her name.

"I-Isis..."

He removed his arms from around her and tensed, then it seemed like he stopped moving, even breathing altogether. Her sobs quieted down and risked a glance -

Was it panic that she read in his features at that moment? Was it out of relief that he exhaled all at once when she released him?

She didn't care. Isis Ishtar, at this moment, did not care. She felt like her heart had been run over by a firetruck and did not want to question anything anymore.

"Rishid." She rubbed her nose a little with the back of her hand.

"Are you gonna be okay?" He took a deep breath, then added in the most normal tone he could muster in his unwell state: "If you want to talk..."

She sniffled. Isis Ishtar never did something so embarrassing as to sniffle. But in front of Rishid Ishtar, she allowed herself to weaken a little from time to time. "I went to see Mahaad and... I told him."

His eyes widened in realization, and then he was able to go past the invisible barrier that he had put up for himself, and it was in the quality of a comforting brother that he extended his arms and held her in a real comforting embrace.

"Oh Isis, I'm so sorry. He doesn't know what he's missing, I tell you," he said, letting his chin and neck wet from the melted speckled of snow in his sister's dark hair, rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her and warm her up at the same time.

To be perfectly honest, Rishid had seen it coming. Painfully so.

Mahaad was quite popular with the girls despite his austere facade, and Isis always went through everything that she set her mind to, even when she knew it was bound to fail. She was fifteen, he was eighteen, they both were very studious and handsome and they would have made a dashing couple.

But every time Isis oh so subtly asked Rishid what kind of food Mahaad brought for lunch at school and what he would like to receive as a gift for the winter solstice celebrations and how well he did in athletics, it ate away at his heart. And right now her little form in his arms hurt and her sobs hurt and something else stirring inside him hurt.

It hurt because he knew very well he should not be rejoicing over the unfortunate outcome of the conversation that took place tonight between the two people he held closest to his heart - one of which was quite literally being pressed against it.

It hurt because by breaking hers, Mahaad had given his best friend a good reason to hate him.

.

* * *

**the winter after that**

* * *

.

Seto caught hold of her backpack before she could lay it on the filthy floor of the hallway. She fumbled with her key ring for a little too long and finally the door opened, letting out a pleasant whiff of stewed fish and some spices that Seto couldn't identify.

"Isis, is that you?" Her mother's high pitched voice easily outdid the sizzling in the kitchen.

"Yes, Ma. Is Malik here?"

Said blond set aside his chopped onions and strolled to the front door.

"Bakura told me to give you this," she said warily as she fished for a particular book the backpack that Seto was still holding - something about body alteration.

She thought that this wasn't exactly the kind of literature Malik needed right now. Damned be Bakura and his bad influence, she told herself, ignorant that the book was in fact being _returned _to its owner.

Said owner simply wiped his hands on his silky purple and golden apron, then grabbed the book with an unaffected "hm" and walked off to his room without greeting his sister or her guest.

"Little brothers," Isis shrugged sympathetically as she took Seto's coat, knowing that he wouldn't be offended by Malik's coldness. Seto wasn't the type to be easily offended, anyway, except when it came to his cousin Kisara. Isis led him to the kitchen to meet his mother.

"This is Seto."

"Good evening Mrs Ishtar," said Seto curtly in a dialect very close to the one used by his hosts. "It smells nice."

"Oh you're too kind," said the woman playfully, revealing delightful smile wrinkles around her eyes. "Your plate won't be ready until a few more minutes I'm afraid." She glanced at the small brown pot in the oven, in which cooked a small portion of the dish simmering in the metal pot on the stove top. Seto was confounded - she had gone out of her way and prepared a separate portion of the meal in a clay pot just for him, knowing that his faith forbade him from eating anything that had been cooked in metal.

"I don't know what to say... " Seto trailed off, stepping aside so that Malik could regain his spot in front of the cutting board. "That wasn't necessary," he added quickly.

"I just don't want you to starve," the ripe woman teased back. "Isis, honey, why don't you and your friend set the table while Malik finishes the salad?"

.

The conversation revolved around the group assignment they were doing together in school. Seto and Isis both disliked talking about themselves, but Mrs Ishtar was just really welcoming and good at making the serious boy open up and talk about himself. Noah was mentioned a lot, in a bad way that Isis' mother obviously found very endearing. "I can tell you really like him," she stated, much to Seto's surprise.

Isis reiterated her previous comment about the irksome character traits that were common to little brothers throughout the world, which earned her a disapproving but frisky remark from her mother. Malik refrained from commenting, chewing on his food with visible effort. Seto didn't comment on the apparent drowsiness of the blond or the fact that neither his sister or mother seemed to comment on it. He didn't flinch either when he nonchalantly ingested a small array of prescription pills in the middle of the meal.

"This is very good, Mrs Ishtar. Thank you very much for having me."

"Oh, you don't need to be so formal with me, Seto! I'm very happy to have you here -" she gently clasped her weathered hand over his - "it's nice that we can sit and eat together like this."

Isis tensed - she knew what her mother was alluding to, and it made her uncomfortable. Her mother didn't seem to realize how much in common she had with Seto than she had with the local boys, and how she felt more free around him _precisely_ because they had less in common than with the boys from their own group, whom she saw so often at the temple and during holidays that they felt more like brothers than anything else. No, she couldn't see herself dating any of them.

A familiar buzz sprang somewhere near Malik, and he immediately left the table, producing a cell phone from his person as he went. Nobody seemed to object this time either, noticed Seto.

"Probably Bakura," scowled Isis.

"Would you care for some desert? We have ice cream," the older woman piped up for Seto's benefit.

"I'm good, thank you very much."

"Are you sure?" She had bought a pint just for the special guest, knowing that her baked treats wouldn't sit too well with him, and none of the family members were really fond of the thing.

"Well I'm quite full, and seeing how commercial milk is pasteurized in giant stainless steel..."

Mrs Ishtar's smile faltered. "Oh no... I'm so sorry. I hadn't thought about that. We have fruit if you want."

"Don't worry, Ma. We have to do our homework, too, so..."

"What was I thinking! Go, go! I'll have your father help me with the dishes when he comes back."

.

Rishid did not believe his eyes when he saw Kaiba's trenchcoat and boots in _his _usual spot by the door. Nor did he want to accept the presence of a small clay pot on the table where _he_ usually sat. He gobbled down the delicious reheated meal without interest while Malik was secluded in his room writing or drawing while texting no one but Bakura. His mother read a book in front of the television; he didn't feel like walking up to her and ask how her day had been.

_His _day had sucked so far; he had to help Mahaad at the temple instead of going to an information session on his future college education, and he wasn't so keen on interacting with little children, less even teaching them religious concepts in a language that they clearly didn't master.

So he walked past his mother and past Malik's room and past Isis', wanting nothing else than to crunch numbers and rip equations apart till he felt better.

But then he heard her.

Isis was laughing.

And then she wasn't. There was some sort of unnatural silence.

If the television wasn't so loud, he could have figured what Isis was whispering. She laughed again.

And then even Seto chuckled.

"Oh Rishid, honey," - his mother startled him - "Isis is with her friend Seto."

"I know who Seto is," he growled.

"Oh. How was your day? Was it fun at the temple?"

"It was okay." The television commercials were over, and Rishid hoped that either the show or the book was good enough to make his mother drop the topic.

It then dawned upon him that Isis and Seto had heard him speak, maybe they even saw his shadow under the door before that. He had to come up with some kind of excuse if he didn't want to look like he was evesdropping - no, peeping. It was definitely some sort of peeping, he thought dreadfully.

"Hum, Isis," he raised his voice, tapping lightly on the door.

"What?" That droll display of impatience on Isis' part was too uncharacteristic for his own tastes. So was the chuckle that followed. "Come in," she said after Rishid had started twisting the doorknob.

She was leaning over the desk toward Seto who was sitting on the edge of the bed - her bed - and none of them had anything that resembled a pen or pencil in hand. Rishid couldn't help but stare at Seto as he spoke.

"Could I borrow your, um," he racked his brains for something believable, "your dictionary?"

She seemed just as puzzled as Rishid was.

But Seto did not.

"Um, yeah, sure," offered a well meaning Isis. Her hips and waist thinned out as she sat up on her chair, her legs seemed to lengthen as she stood on the tip of her toes and he could see her shoulders roll smoothly in the fabric of her dress when she stretched to reach for the top shelf. Rishid cast a glance at Seto, almost wishing that he were doing something reprehensible like ogling his sister, just so that he'd have some tangible reason to hate the guy. But Seto wasn't looking at Isis.

He was staring at him the whole time.

Rishid suddenly felt very cold and numb.

"Which one," interrupted the woman in the making, her back still turned to her brother.

Seto didn't miss a beat. "I think he wants the bilingual one," he said with a voice that didn't betray the faint smirk on his face. "Right?"

.

* * *

**and the winter after that (which is now)**

* * *

.

Rishid had driven all the way from his uni town to celebrate the winter solstice at the temple.

To ensure a high attendance rate among the younger believers, the two spiritual leaders had enjoined every unmarried member to bring their girlfriend of boyfriend. Mana lived far from here and couldn't make it, so no one complained when Atem asked if (proposed that) he invite a male friend. Little did his parents know that he would invite not only Seto, but his brother as well, because he took Noah along wherever he went. His cousin Kisara tagged along, too, because she had come back from her uni town for the weekend to visit. And it so happened that she was staying over at Seto's place.

Atem hadn't met Kisara in high school, because she skipped so many grades, but he remembered her as a sweet girl; everyone would like her. And while Noah was a brat sometimes, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut when the circumstances required it. So was Seto; in the end he didn't expose his relationship with Isis. That would have caused quite a commotion in the community. Or maybe not, but he wasn't ready to find out.

They barely ate throughout the afternoon, nibbling only at raw fruit and crudites because they didn't want to be troublesome and ask whether every single item had been cooked in some sort of metal.

Seto politely answered whichever questions they were asked in the most diplomatic way possible, carefully avoiding the potential landmines and the occasional back handed comments, which got less and less subtle as the adults got more and more inebriated. Noah blended in quite well with the older crowd, who deemed him quite charming. And Kisara spent an awful lot of time speaking with Rishid.

.

"Malik?" Rishid gave a tentative knock on the door.

"I'm not done yet," the eighteen-year-old could be heard saying from inside the bathroom.

"Your hair looks _just fine_."

"I'm not done yet," Malik repeated, this time more insistent.

"We have to stop by Mahaad and Atem's place, remember?"

"You go ahead. Bakura is coming to pick me up." His voice was distant, like he was very focused on the task at hand, which probably involved all of the little creams and toners and moisturizers that littered the counter around the sink.

"I can come back for you guys if you want." Rishid wouldn't trust Bakura driving a car if he even had or could borrow one. And he wasn't sure whether it was safest to walk with or without Bakura in their neighborhood.

But mostly, he wasn't all that thrilled that 'Bakura had become such a supportive friend for Malik', as their mother put it during dinner.

"No, no. We'll catch you guys later." And the droning of the hairdryer put and end to the exchange.

Rishid walked up to the living room, where his mother and sister were reading and watching a nature documentary at the same time. Something about the mating of sea horses. "I guess I won't see you again, unless you're still awake when I take Malik back home."

"You're not staying over?" His mother took her reading glasses off, looking almost shaken. "Rishid! You can't drive back at night. It's not safe."

"Don't worry, I do it all the time, Ma."

"That's not going to make her feel any better," teased Isis who was coming toward his too wide form squeezed in the too narrow doorframe. "When are you coming back?"

"Reading week, I guess."

"Can't you stay? I made a bed for you."

"Ma, you're making him uncomfortable."

"But they said it would snow tonight!"

"The snow tires are on." He knew that she knew because she had insisted that he came back to town to have them changed at the same garage around the corner.

"I think he's going to be late if we keep him, Ma."

The mother then scurried to the kitchen.

"Tell Seto I'll see him tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," shrugged the unwilling messenger.

"This is frozen tcharik," his mother announced as she came back with a giant plastic container. "You have to thaw it in a pan. Don't you dare put it the microwave."

Rishid tried not to wince; he liked tcharik, but his roommates made fun of him when the flat ended up smelling of fish because of the food his mother made.

"And that," she pointed at hundred, literally a hundred (more than enough to last through the whole semester) of individually wrapped, bite size sort of cumin-fig dumplings tossed in some grocery bags, "is for you to share with your friends."

There was no way he would; they were his favorites. No, actually, he would, just to let them know that his mother was the best cook on earth. The giant caught his mother by surprise when he hugged her.

"I love you, Ma." He released her and grabbed the bags in one hand, twisting the doorknob with the other.

Isis stood expectantly, but he merely extended a hand for her to shake.

She wouldn't have any of the aloof behaviour her big brother had developed over the last two years, not when she saw him so rarely.

So she hopped forward and gave herself permission to plant a kiss on his cheek.

By the time he stepped out of the apartment building, his ears felt so hot that they actually radiated heat in the cold air.

.

They arrived first and decided to park near a cigarette vending machine, planted across the street from the temple. They listening to some new band Atem was fond of inside the car for a while, but it was too pop for Rishd's taste and he turned it off.

Now bored, the sixteen year old stole one, then two of the precious homemade dumplings, moaning in joy, then stuffing one, no, half of one dumpling into his brother's mouth - with much too little resistance on a stupefied Mahaad's part - it was insane what the cute little brat could get away with.

They saw Karim's car park behind their own and waved at him. Soon after the Kaiba brothers, in Seto's new car-that-now-had-a-functional-heating-system, rode straight into the parking lot of the temple and to the back of the building.

"Wait, Atem, you invited Kaiba here, too?"

"He heard about the gathering and he wanted to come! I can't see why he couldn't," argued the young one.

They waited for Karim to lock up his own car and the four young men walked together to the usual hanging out spot behind the temple.

"Hi Seto!"

No answer. No scoff; no reaction at all.

"Hey Seto. How's it going," added Mahaad curtly.

"You have some nerve," said Kaiba, completely dismissing the two previous greetings.

The others looked at each other quizzically, then at Seto. When his glare was too hateful and cryptic to be of any help, they turned to Noah, who rolled his eyes without any sign that he wanted to take part in the conversation.

"I can't believe you had the nerve to hit on my cousin."

Rishid was befuddled. "I'm... I... W-what?"

"You're fucking disgusting."

"Excuse me?"

"Cut the crap. You asked for her phone number."

Mahaad and Karim exchanged a surprised look, and Atem did a very poor job of concealing the joy in his voice when he blurted out: "Oh my Gods, Rishid!"

"It's not what you think. It's just that we're in the same classes and hadn't realized it." Rishid majored in engineering and Kisara was some sort of physics prodigy, so they had some core classes in common.

"You never realized it," echoed a very sarcastic Seto.

"There's three hundred of us in calculus," said Rishid sharply.

"Wait, wait, you mean Seto is right? You hit on Kisara at the party?" Mahaad was irrevocably infected with his brother's enthusiasm.

"He fucking did," confirmed Seto who held out an unassuming, scribbled on piece of paper for everyone to see. No, it was actually nothing more than a nakpin.

"I can't believe it. Way to go, Rishid!" Atem was almost clapping. "You would make such a cute, nerdy couple!"

Seto uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Rishid until they were at arm's length. "And you offered to give her a ride back to campus." His voice dripped with anger.

"Yeah, good choice, man. Your cousin is _fine_, Seto. Even with those glasses." Karim gave Rishid a male-bonding type of pat on the back. "I always knew you were a player!"

But that didn't amuse Rishid in the least, because that's the last thing he was.

"Okay, so you have a cousin complex or something? Do you screen all her phone calls? Can she go out unaccompanied? Can she speak to unmarried males without your permission?"

"I don't think you're one to talk," spat Seto victoriously.

"And what do you mean by that," breathed the giant in the brunet's face.

"He doesn't mean it, Rishid, drop it." Atem shifted his weight nervously, slightly in retreat from the budding confrontation. "Mahaad, say something."

Mahaad merely swallowed, waiting to see how things would develop. It's a shame Rishid had shied away from team sports in high school so that both of them could join the athletics club together; he would have been a valuable asset to the basketball team. No, he would have made a formidable quarterback. He found himself fearing for Seto, but the little voice at the back of his head told him that Rishid would never do anything that would hurt his sister's feelings - and that extended to Seto's welfare, because he just so happened to be her boyfriend.

Rishid gave Seto a good shove. The brunet, who matched even Mahaad in strength and built, flailed. Then there was a sound like broken glass somewhere behind Seto; Atem shrieked... In vain. Noah had only dropped in bottle, stupefied.

"I said: What. The fuck. Do you mean?"

"Oh my Gods Mahaad, do something, please." Atem jittered so much that he nearly danced. With their distinctive looks - Seto was clean cut and polished while Rishid had a more rough get-up - there would be no questioning who would be at fault if the police was called here by an upset neighbor.

"I don't think I made myself clear," repeated the giant as he gave Seto a sold shove that made him lose his footing. "What the fuck do you mean?" He didn't notice Malik and Bakura arriving, he didn't give importance to Mahaad's reminding him that 'it wasn't worth it', or Bakura's trademark vulgarity when he yelled something incoherent meant to insult either of the rivals, or both: all he could see was the blue eyed boy's snarl as the dreaded words escaped his lips:

"I mean you ogle your sister any change you got."

Seto didn't have time to brace himself for the impact. The fractured bone seemed to resonate in his very skull, but it was worth it.

It was so worth it.

.

* * *

**the end, for now (we're still in the middle of this goddamn freezing winter)**

* * *

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**A/N**

I hope you enjoyed. I did like recycling that AU even though it proved very difficult to write this time. Don't leave me in the dark - concrit (or anything else) is more than welcome :3

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Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the third installment of Greener Pastures (_Rollback_: BakuraxMalik) and the sequel (_Detente_: RishidxKisara) that will bring closure to this universe. -Milly


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